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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590192">The Main Reason I'm Going to Hell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbid_beauty/pseuds/morbid_beauty'>morbid_beauty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Light BDSM, if you know you know</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:22:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,657</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbid_beauty/pseuds/morbid_beauty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank gets sent to a Catholic church camp to be a counselor, as part of a punishment. Jamia is a beautiful, young nun with a storied past he doesn't know about.</p><p>Yet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero/Jamia Nestor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Main Reason I'm Going to Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I love you all.</p><p>Happy Easter.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank knows it's totally not okay to be attracted to the only nun near his age at Trinity Camp for Teens, but everyone else is fucking ancient or a baby and Jamia's just- God, she's beautiful. He makes her laugh and her smile fucking wrecks him. They say their Hail Mary's together before the morning donut runs and her voice is so pretty. All the other nuns wear cargo shorts but she wears yoga pants and wasn't she supposed to be modest? The giant shirts she wears cover her hips but sometimes she bends over to pick something up and... He always steals a glance. And? No amount of baggie shirt hides how huge her tits are.</p><p>God, he's going to hell.</p><p>He rolls out of bed one morning at the ass crack of dawn, before the other counselors, and gets on some gym shorts. He needs to get this aggressive horny energy out somehow - he's definitely not masturbating in a tiny room he shares with 7 other Catholics. So a jog before breakfast would have to do. It's already too hot so early in the morning and he wishes he could jog shirtless. At least it's beautiful out, and quiet except for the sounds of nature with the rowdy teens all asleep. The pale little neighborhood of cabins look like toys against the bright green forest, and it's all pink and orange behind that. He sees a bee loitering around the trashcan next to the basketball court, cigarette butts littering the outskirts of the fire pit. He stretches.</p><p>Cabin 5, his home for the summer, is behind the pavilion where they sometimes eat lunch and past all those picnic tables is the main house, a gigantic bleached white thing donated by some rich dude. He glances at Jamia's window; he'd been in her room once or twice, pleased to see she had a couple posters of bands he liked. (No, stop thinking about her. Asshole.) When Frank's done stretching, standing up straight and ready to start the run, he sees Jamia stepping out the back door of the house and start in his direction.</p><p>She's wearing a tank top. She's wearing a- white tank top, what the fuck. What the-</p><p>"Morning, Frankie!" she says, all smiles, completely unaware of the boner he just popped. It takes all his willpower not to look at her chest, she's so fucking hot, but he's tense as a board and has completely forgotten how to be a person.</p><p>"Y-yeah, uh-" he chokes out. Fuck. He clears his throat. "Good morning."</p><p>He remembers he's wearing gym shorts.</p><p>She looks down.</p><p>Her eyes linger for way longer than should be okay, and if she wasn't a fucking nun he'd punch his ticket to fucktown, but as it stands he just feels over-exposed and weird.</p><p>"Going for a run?" she asks, meeting his eyes again.</p><p>Did she not notice? Is she too far away? Normally he'd meet her at the pavilion; she's holding a basket with donuts and such for breakfast, he assumes, and he likes spending time with her even if he's pretty sure he's going to hell, likes to help her, have her tell him what to do. But he can't chance it right now. He can't.</p><p>"Yeah, I'll be back to help in a bit," he calls.</p><p>"Don't worry about it," she says, waving him off. "Mikey said he'd help me this morning. Go! Drink lots of water, it's gonna be an inferno today."</p><p>Frank nods. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbles to himself, then turns and goes out to the street, runs way too fucking fast, spends way too long in the shower after.</p><p>*</p><p>He just wants someone to deck him. He wants to get in a moshpit and piss off a giant dude and get decked in the fucking face. He knows a couple counselors went to a show in New Haven before he arrived, Mikey had mentioned. Maybe they'll go to another show and he can get bloodied like he deserves.</p><p>Frank usually avoids the pool because Jamia loves swimming and looks fantastic in the purple one-piece she has; he loves the way the gray t-shirt she wears over it sticks to her, loves how her shorts do little to cover- (No no no, stop. Fuck. Why does a nun dress like that, why does a nun LOOK like that? The nuns at his Catholic high school would never.)</p><p>Today, on a day hotter than Satan's asshole in a sauna, he has pool duty. And everyone is at the fucking pool. He's jittery, swatting away bugs, feet tapping aggressively on the concrete below his feet. The kids ask about his tattoos and some of them have crushes on him, he knows; he sees the way their eyes shine as they lean over the edge of the pool to flirt dangerously with him. He ignores it, obviously; but he talks about his tattoos, kicks beach balls back at them when they come his way, blows the whistle when they get too rowdy and tells them to fuck off in a cleaner way.</p><p>Jamia arrives and Frank's head goes fucking blank. She walks through the wooden fence and Frank notices something different right away. She washes her feet in the smaller pool and gingerly steps down the ladder, into the water. She swims across to the deep end - he's working, he's not paying attention to her, he's not going to look at her, there's no reason, he's taking care of kids for Christ- He's a chaperone for the weirdest pool party littered with teens and nuns and he's not going to look at her when she steps out of the water like it's Baywatch.</p><p>Except he totally does. And she's wearing a two-piece. He sees more of her than usual, her white shirt sticking to her belly, the shorts of her suit black and ending mid-thigh. And the top, or what he can see of it, has a little v; more cleavage for him to awkwardly look away from. The shirt is definitely tighter than usual, of a thinner material. He would know.</p><p>She smirks at him as she walks by and if he didn't know any better, he'd think she was teasing. When is God going to smite him and get it the fuck over with? He's so relieved when his lifeguard duty is over. He takes a dip in the cold water and just goes back to Cabin 5.</p><p>*</p><p>Frank considers going to confession after Mass sometimes (he cannot BELIEVE he's being forced to go to Mass EVERY DAY) but thinks better of it. It's between him and God now. He hasn't been to confession in years, anyway, and would have way too much to say. Instead, he talks to Mikey about it. Not a great idea either.</p><p>"I mean, she is attractive," Mikey says. "I have eyes. But dude."</p><p>"I know," Frank says, sucking his cigarette like it could save him.</p><p>"She's a n-"</p><p>"I know!"</p><p>The kids are all in their cabins for the night and Frank and Mikey have sneaked out of Cabin 5 to smoke by the fire pit. Frank's exhausted from a day of running around and talking too much about Jesus and breaking up fights. He's got some scratches on his arm from a girl that almost murdered her friend. He kind of likes the lingering sting. He's still waiting for someone to punch him in the face. Maybe if he goes to confession, the priest will do it.</p><p>"There are girls our age to hook up with, man," Mikey says, chuckling at the desperate look Frank gives him. "Some guys too, if you're into that."</p><p>That's why Frank likes this dude. Mikey's the least Catholic person at this camp, next to him. He can't really get along with anyone else as a friend.</p><p>"I didn't come here to fuck, I came here to get punished for crashing my car while wasted," Frank mumbles.</p><p>"Hot nun sounds like a decent punishment."</p><p>Frank is so tired.</p><p>*</p><p>His life turns on its head the next morning when he gets up for a jog and sees Jamia squatting by the fire pit. She appears to be picking up all the abandonned cigarette butts - they're having marshmallows tonight - and he instantly feels guilty, since most of those were his and Mikey's. So he jogs up to her and gets on his knees to help.</p><p>She doesn't say anything at first, which is strange. She has on a huge vintage t-shirt and her usual leggings today, cut just below the knee. After a moment, she pauses to look at him then drops the cigarette butts she'd already collected. He frowns - what the fuck was that - and starts picking those up too. Then she stands and he feels her watching him. It's not as hot this morning as it was yesterday but he's sweating already.</p><p>"I guess I deserve that," Frank says, hoping she's just messing around.</p><p>"Why've you been avoiding me, Frankie?" she says. She sits on a nearby bench, crosses her legs.</p><p>He doesn't look up. He can't. </p><p>"I haven't-" Frank starts, ready to come up with some sort of lie to explain why he hasn't been sitting with her for mealtimes and mass, but she doesn't give him the chance.</p><p>"Don't lie," she says, and her tone is stern like she uses with the kids. Frank feels like he's in Catholic school again and it shouldn't be hot, that tone of voice from her, it shouldn't, but when he looks up and sees a little smile on her face, his brain short circuits again.</p><p>"I wanna show you something," she continues. "You got bug spray on?"</p><p>She seems so amused and has never steered him wrong; he nods and follows her, dropping the cigarette butts into a nearby trash can. He really has no reason to suspect anything weird. She is a nun. He can't help staring at her ass as they walk, every step feeling like another reason he's going to hell. When it's clear they're going into the forest, through an entrance that leads to a shrine of Mary, he begs the universe that his mom can't sense how truly awful he's being right now.</p><p>Their sneakers crunch on wood pellets, the early morning disappearing behind them as they enter the trees. The lifesize statue of Mary is surrounded by gorgeous flowers, up on a pedestal, a couple of benches nearby for anyone that can't stand long to sit during Sunday processions that pause there. Jamia turns around in front of Mary, both their faces made of stone, and just looks at Frank thoughtfully. Her eyes rake over Frank's body and he's...not uncomfortable, not really. Just extremely confused.</p><p>"What's wrong?" Frank says, hyper-speeding into counselor mode to avoid how nervous her gaze makes him. "Did the kids break another one of the-"</p><p>He was looking around, trying to find the vandalism he was meant to take care of, when he saw a peculiar movement from Jamia's direction. He pauses his gaze on a nearby tree. His peripheral vision must be wrong. There's no way she... There's just absolutely no way.</p><p>"I saw you staring," she says, her voice taking a tone he'd never heard from her, and holy shit. She totally took her shirt off.</p><p>Her bra is relatively modest but there's still plenty of cleavage. It's not just her chest that appeals to him, though; her torso is so pale compared to her summer-tanned arms and legs, her skin so smooth and hairless and fucking kissable. She's so small but looks bigger now somehow, standing bare in front of him like that, and he can see that she's as nervous as he is by the way her tits stutter with her shaking breaths. She's probably more nervous if he's being logical. But he isn't. Frank is ready to pass out.</p><p>"I didn't-" he starts, staring at her cleavage unabashedly. "I w-wasn't-"</p><p>"I know exactly what you are," Jamia says, in that tone again. Like she's starving and he's the only food for miles; like she's a lioness and he's a wounded caribou abandoned by his herd.</p><p>"What do you mean?" Frank speaks slowly, waiting for this nightmare (sex dream?) to fucking end already and let him move on with his day.</p><p>"Get on your knees."</p><p>There's that authoritarian tone again, only turned up a little, and Frank can't help himself. He's nervous, he's turned on, she's so hot, who cares that she's a nun? God, probably, he thinks to himself, as he drops slowly to his knees. Looking up at her expectantly. Watching how her breasts bounce as she steps toward him. Mouth falling open, waiting for an offering. Or to give one.</p><p>She strokes her fingers through his hair, her short nails skating across his scalp, until her hand is at the back of his head. She tugs and he can't help the moan that slips out as his head falls back.</p><p>"I've had a crush on you since we met," she says, and oh. So he's not going to hell alone, then. "I can tell you're a masochist. I was a sadist before..."</p><p>She let's that hang in the air; she doesn't need to elaborate. Frank ignores the first part, the part about the crush, because he's having a million thoughts about it and at least half are forbidden, and moves right along to the second part, which is too much in a different way.</p><p>"Am I that obvious?" he says softly, even though no one is or will be anywhere near them. But his mom is watching so it's kind of weird anyway. Maybe if she doesn't hear, it'll be less weird.</p><p>The statue of Mary is, in fact, not looking in their direction. It's also made of stone and can't hear shit. Frank's head is spinning. His knees are gonna get messed up if he stays like this for any longer and he kind of likes that.</p><p>"I miss hanging out with you," Jamia says, ignoring his question. Frank exhales when her grip on his hair loosens just slightly. "Have you been avoiding me because you're attracted to me?"</p><p>Frank doesn't respond, because the answer is totally yeah, and saying it out loud to her is too much. She steps away from him and he lilts forward as she pulls her shirt back over her head. Frank's dizzy, confused, so turned on.</p><p>"Meet me here at midnight," she says. He nods, and lets her leave first.</p><p>*</p><p>Frank thinks he shouldn't tell Mikey. He knows he shouldn't. He doesn't. Mikey knows something's up.</p><p>The whole day, Frank is tense as a board. Terrified, excited, actually fucking praying during the plethora of times throughout the day designated for prayer. Mostly he's yelling at God but his mother told him once that any conversation with God is prayer so that's what he's gonna call it. Okay?</p><p>He snaps at the kids a few times and feels guilty about it, which is nothing new since he's a bi Catholic at a church camp, but he is the tough counselor of the bunch: he's got a handful of obvious tattoos, after all, and he takes exactly zero shit from everyone except for the oldest nun but that's just because she reminds him of his grandmother. He's scary to the teens, and they get the hint and leave him alone. Mostly.</p><p>He has cracker duty at the campfire. Three dozen teens chatter excitedly near a fire under a glittering sky and he's a whole mess and a half. The teens with freshly charred marshmallows make a line in front of Frank to complete their s'mores. He keeps glancing at Jamia, who's just hanging out with the other counselors (she always spent more time with them than the nuns, he'd noticed). She does glance back at him a few times, casual, all smiles. Frank's face is blank. Mikey asks about it.</p><p>"I'll tell you eventually," Frank says when they're stealing bug juice from the main house's kitchen, a little while later when the fire is just embers and everyone has started wandering off to bed.</p><p>"No, you can't say that!" Mikey says. "Tell me fucking now. You've been weird all day."</p><p>"Mikey. Dude. I promise you I'll tell you the story after the climax happens."</p><p>That shuts him up. Good.</p><p>Frank stares at the ceiling in Cabin 5 for God knows how long. (God knows everything, he thinks anxiously.) He glances at his watch over and over and over and the proverbial pot boils over eventually. He tiptoes across the creaky, old wood of the cabin, as if he hasn't left at all hours of the night in the past to smoke and shoot the shit with Mikey, as if he doesn't hear the sighs of the light sleepers. Whatever. He's trying to be covert. Intent matters, right? Even a little bit? Hopefully?</p><p>The walk across the grounds to Mary's statue in the woods is longer than it's ever been. Dew sinks into his sneakers and his chest almost hurts with how hard his heart bangs into his ribs. He doesn't bring a flashlight and doesn't need it. There are floodlights pointing at Mary for nighttime processions. Still, Jamia is barely a silhouette when he arrives. She sits on one of the benches, legs crossed. Again, topless. This time, the bra is not so modest: the black lace definitely lets him see EVERYTHING and he stares because what the fuck. What...the...</p><p>"What's...happening?" he says, noticing the yardstick on her lap.</p><p>"I need to set you right," Jamia says. Less sexy, more authoritative, and he likes it just as well. He's so CONFUSED.</p><p>"Are you messing with me?" he wonders, glancing up at the sky - hidden behind thick trees.</p><p>"You know what this is for, right? You went to Catholic school." Jamia stands up, takes a wide berth around him, eyes him even more hungrily than this morning. She swings the ruler a bit. "Get on your knees. Arms on the bench. Get comfortable. Fold your hands like you're praying."</p><p>Frank's never been sure what it is about being bossed around like that that made his fucking knees week but she was gorgeous and giving him everything he wanted. He'll punch his ticket to hell right now if it means whatever the fuck this is continues. She has a crush on him, she said; this isn't one-sided. He's trying to convince himself, anyway, that this is something more than it seems, as he sinks to his knees for her. Bends over and folds his hands, arms on the bench. Breathes in the smell of dirt wet by dew. Waits.</p><p>"You didn't volunteer," Jamia says. Frank tenses when the edge of the ruler touches his hip. Staring at the darkness of the forest, he can't see a thing; just Mary, yards away in his periphery. "Your mother sent you here but you were too old to be a camper so you became a counselor. Is that true?"</p><p>The way she asks tells him she wants an answer. He doesn't answer right away, wanting to see what she'll do, and feels the ruler hit his thigh. Not hard, especially through the fabric, but not light either. His breath catches. Her footsteps are light on the woodchips.</p><p>"Yes," he says.</p><p>"Where would you rather be?"</p><p>"Home," Frank answers, immediately this time. Her pleased chuckle makes him smile. He hopes she hears it in his voice. "At a punk show, with my friends."</p><p>"You ever been spanked? Hit with a ruler?"</p><p>Frank glances up again, at the cool darkness separating his vision from the sky. "A couple times."</p><p>"How many times was it sexual?" she asks and honestly? He'd be happy for him to interrogate her like this for the rest of his life. Yes, even with the wood chips denting uncomfortably into his knees. Especially.</p><p>"Most of them," Frank admits after a moment of wistful thought. He hears Jamia move in a semi-circle around him. He gasps when his other thigh gets a light hit.</p><p>"You have a safe word?" she says, more tentative now. Frank has no such qualms. He knows they're both nervous. He doesn't want this to stop.</p><p>"Revenge."</p><p>Jamia hums. She hasn't touched him yet; he suspects she won't. "I'm not gonna go easy on you," she continues, and Frank is so grateful to hear that, especially in the much gentler tone he'd grown accustomed to hearing from her the past few weeks. "You'll have to hide it from the others tomorrow because you're gonna feel it."</p><p>This is where Frank can back out. He knows the drill and clearly she does too. "Okay," he says instead.</p><p>And the final instructions, which he'll remember hearing in that voice for a very, Very long time. "Pull down your pants. Show me your ass." Then, after a pause, "Say the Hail Mary."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Now."</p><p>This is absurd. Totally absurd, he thinks, pulling his longjohns down as low as he can - he takes an ironic moment to pray that nothing bites his dick, hanging out in the open half hard. Again he's feeling anxious and overexposed, especially when he sees the flashlight she turns on for a moment. But when the ruler comes down the first time, Frank doesn't even care.</p><p>"Hail Mary, full of Grace," he starts, and so does she. He's only slightly embarrassed by the moan that escapes him when he feels (and hears) the hard smack of the ruler on his ass cheeks. She wasn't kidding about not going easy. The surprising force of the hit urges him forward.</p><p>"The Lord is with thee," he says, tenses, up, and there it is again. He digs his toes into the wood chips, relishes for a moment in the pain, thinks about that black lacy bra Jamia has on.</p><p>"Blessed art thou amongst- women, fuck." Frank is surprised by a mid-sentence sting, but he doesn't mind it. He's had more hits than he suspects he'll get just getting through this prayer but these are so hard, on the same spot, and the pain blooms with heat and pleasure. His dick twitches when Jamia immediately hits him again and he makes a high-pitched sound he has no space in his brain to be embarrassed by.</p><p>"Don't swear!" Jamia says sternly, and continues almost lovingly, "Go on."</p><p>"Sorry, sorry..." Frank takes a few deep breaths. "And-and blessed is the fruit of thy womb- oh. Jesus f- Christ..."</p><p>She's really just gonna give it to him with every line, huh? He's starting to feel dizzy, hips moving forward instinctually, looking for a hand or a mouth or a pussy or a mattress, needing friction. But his hands are folded on the bench, like she said. He'll do anything she says.</p><p>"Keep going," Jamia says, so deceivingly sweet, and he takes a deep breath before continuing.</p><p>"Holy Mary, Mother of- God!" Frank almost makes it to the end this time but she gives it to him early. She giggles, and it's the best fucking sound Frank has ever heard, as he shifts slightly at the delicious discomfort. He can't help how he's panting, he knows she's picking the times to do it purposefully and it'd be funny if he wasn't so fucking far gone. His cock went from lazily bobbing to head pressing right up against his lower stomach, pre-cum on his shirt.</p><p>"Pray for us- s-sinners now and," he pauses to take a few deep breaths, smiling a little at the hit before "sinners." He doesn't know if it'll be his ass or his thighs next and he loves that. He trusts her. She giggles again and he's so gone for her.</p><p>"And when Frankie?" Jamia asks, all authoritarian gone from her voice, at least briefly, though it isn't gone from her bicep. Frank let's out a long, needy whine, turning his bruising knees toward each other, as she gives him another smack.</p><p>"And at the hour of our death!" he almost shouts, inhaling sharply, holding back a scream. His ass and thighs are burning, he knows he'll have marks tomorrow and he's so exciting to see them, he wants to turn around and kiss her but he can't. This isn't that. This is different but so good still. So good.</p><p>"Amen..." he says in an exhale. She hits a few more times and his arms fall apart, his forehead is stuck to the damp wood of the bench, and he just moans softly, a small smile playing at his lips as she hits him with abandon, leaving welts he's excited to feel and see and hide tomorrow.</p><p>He feels more than hears her dropping to her knees, draping over him, hands- no, fingers, no- fingernails, fuck, sliding up his back, under his shirt, up to the crooks of his neck. She presses down onto him, rubbing her breasts against the red skin of his ass, the lace agitating his fragile skin. They moan together, a harmony he wants more of so bad. But he won't dare move without her say.</p><p>"That's pretty messed up, Frankie," Jamia says, lips dropping onto some skin she'd revealed. "Checking out a nun? Wanting her this bad..."</p><p>"I'm sorry," Frank gasps out. He's so hard, if she could just... Maybe she won't do it, but she could tell him to? He just needs something, fuck.</p><p>And the smallest something, her little fingers, find their way to his hips. "Don't give me a reason to have to do that again," she says, still doing nothing more than speak against his cool, damp skin, fingers sliding teasingly under his waistband.</p><p>"Is that all you're doing?" Frank asks because he's desperate, he hasn't come since his last night in Jersey, he's so turned on and raw and dizzy with it all. When she doesn't speak, stroking his hipbone with too much pressure and not enough fingernails, he continues, desperate to please her, "Can I... Would you like me to do something to- for you?"</p><p>The silence is torture and he's practically vibrating. Her fingers dip even lower; she hums when they move over his pubes, to the base of his cock. Frank whimpers.</p><p>"I'm a nun, Frankie," she says, as if he needed fucking reminding. "And we're not having sex in a forest."</p><p>Hopeful, Frank pipes in, "Where, then?"</p><p>She keeps stroking lightly, her heat all up on his back, her fingers so close to where he wants them. He's panting at the bench, eyes half-open; he wants to fuck her, he knows he can't. It all has him going fucking crazy.</p><p>"Say a few Hail Mary's," she whispers, leaving a blessed and promising kiss on his back. "I'll think about it."</p><p>Like that, she's gone and Frank relaxes onto the bench. He slowly pulls up his pants, hands shaking, chuckling deliriously at the wonderful sting. He pulls himself up onto a lazy seat on the bench and watching as her silhouette enters the lights of the main houses of campus. To his left, Mary looks away shamefully.</p><p>Frank crosses himself. When Jamia's out of sight, he rubs one out through his jeans. Moving just so, to get the right sting from his ass, thinking of Jamia, of sneaking off somewhere to fuck her, having her tugging his hair again, feeling her breasts between his hands and in his mouth, feeling the heat of her. In a better universe, she'd even peg him and her hips would collide with his bruised ass over and over as she moaned behind him, did exactly whatever she wanted with him. He'd oblige her, gladly.</p><p>After he comes and catches his breath, he does a few Hail Mary's like she told him to, a handful of Our Fathers, and throws in a couple Apostle's Creeds for good measure. At least he's not the only guilty Catholic around here.</p>
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